


Spoil Me

by surrealtrashman



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blowjobs, Grinding, M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex, chrollo is thirsty, cute sushi date, illu is a horny brat, illumi rejects chrollo's attempts at road head, messy kissing, this is the filthiest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrealtrashman/pseuds/surrealtrashman
Summary: Chrollo is a romantic, and Illumi's got the perfect combination of "lifeless doll" and "deadly weapon" to suit his tastes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I have to say this, but this work is not for minors. Go away if you're under 18, please. I promise it's for your own good.
> 
> That said, there is way too little Illukuro content on this site, or anywhere, really.

Even the way Illumi sips his tea is preciously demure; the lock of hair that hovers over the rim and threatens to dip inside is charming. Somehow the dim red lighting of the restaurant makes him appear even more doll-like than usual, more elegant. The place is expensive: Sushi, at his request. A good choice. It’s terribly romantic, to imagine the two of us casually leaving without paying, Illumi’s intense, deadly aura daring anyone to stop us, possibly even my hand on the small of his back as I guide him out the door. I want to tell him now that he’s beautiful, that he looks more beautiful now than I’ve ever seen him. But he isn’t ready to hear that, so all I can do is gaze at him longingly and hope he’ll enjoy his food when it comes.

“So,” he says, breaking my admiring silence, “who’s our next target?”

One would think a Zoldyck would know better than to trust an infamous thief to pay him. I do, fortunately for him, but only because I like him so well. The usual Zoldyck plan B would be pointless; even the oldest, most skilled members of the family can’t touch me, and Illumi knows this as well as any of them. That is, I _would_ plan to pay him, but for one little detail.

Our server sets the plates in front of us just as I deliver the news. “No one. I just wanted to take you out, spoil you a little bit.” I give him the most charming smile I can manage.

He bites the rim of the mug lightly and just stares with those doll eyes. Music, dark and dreamy-sounding, drifts from some far corner of the restaurant. He sets the mug down and I catch the tiniest string of saliva between it and his mouth. I’ve decided already that I want to bring him home.

“Spoil me,” he says, deadpan, like a statement, or maybe a challenge. He picks up a slice of ginger and licks it off his fingers with his little tongue. “Okay.”

 He pops a slice of sushi into his mouth and stares at me while chewing. His social skills, while unnerving to some, are endearing to me. The food here __is__ very good, and for a split second I regret my comment--if I could get him to pay, maybe we could come back again.

“Why spoil me?” he asks between sips of tea, as though reading my mind. “I could buy you.”

I have to laugh at that, and he responds with his own self-satisfied grin. Even his teeth are pretty, and just subtly flawed enough to seem real. Feitan would be leering at them for his collection if he ever met the boy. Or possibly for the whole jawbone.

I let my foot brush his under the table and snatch a piece of sushi from his plate before he can stop me. He scoffs at me, mock-hurt, then steals some of mine in return. Is he...flirting back? This feels suspiciously easy.

“That’s good,” he says, and I wonder if he’s aware how much of a purr he’s giving me. It’s possible that he’s just really enjoying the food. I have an absent thought of feeding it to him with my mouth. Maybe I’ll save some for that exact purpose...

But for now I’m hungry, and I study him as I continue eating. “I know you’ve got money,” I tell him. “That isn’t what I meant.” I let my foot slide up his leg, and he kicks me sharply, facial expression unchanging.

“I’m a Zoldyck, not a whore,” he quips lightly, snatching more of my food. “You pay me to kill,” he says after a moment of chewing, “not to...do whatever it is you’re trying to bribe me into with food I’m sure you don’t intend to pay for.”

“I’m not paying you to do anything tonight, sweetheart.” I put some emphasis on the final word, relishing in the feeling of addressing one of the world’s richest, most infamous people so affectionately. He nearly chokes on his food-- _ _my__ food--and once he gets it down, his laugh is sharp, bordering on unpleasant but not quite.

“Oh yes, we all know I’m as sweet as they come. What is it you want, Chrollo?” _To kiss your lovely little mouth _,__  I think, but obviously I have to keep my own shut for now. But it’s so hard, when I’ve been thinking about his tongue ever since I saw it slip out earlier.

“Your company,” I tell him honestly.

His demeanor turns serious, at least superficially, and he leans forward with his chin cupped in his hand, watching me with those doll eyes. “Why?” His tone is closer to someone giving a command than asking a question. I want to ask him if he truly doesn’t realize how beautiful he is, how alluring, but I really can’t embarrass myself this early in the evening.

“Well...” I begin, stalling in an attempt to find something that sounds at least somewhat decent. But within a few seconds I’ve already decided that it doesn’t matter. “You’re so deadly and so unusual that I can’t help but find myself attracted to you.”

He bursts out laughing again, and the sound holds the same harsh resonance as before. “That’s incredible.”  

“Why? Why would something like that be unusual? Do you think I want your money?” I do want his money, but surprisingly not as badly as I want the rest of him.

“Yes. I know you do, Chrollo Lucilfer.” He says my name as though to remind us both of who I am, of how obvious the answer to that question would be. It feels like a privilege to hear him say it, though, as much of a privilege as it would be to lean close and touch that hair. It keeps crossing my mind, how soft it must be, what it must smell like. I want to be close enough to smell him, to taste his skin.

 I shrug, and take a sip of my own tea. “I mean, it wasn’t part of the plan tonight. To take anything from you.” That’s mostly true, but not altogether. I haven’t planned to steal any __money__ , or items, but I have been wondering about his virginity. He’s beautiful, but the isolation the Zoldycks place on themselves and their children can’t be conducive to close relationships. Or social skills, clearly. But it’s endearing, even charming. And arousing to me, to think he’s never been touched, that I might be the first.

“You’re lying,” he shoots back, black gaze unblinking. “I can tell.”

“I know better than to try you,” I say. “And I’m not lying about that.” I meet his eyes with equal resolve, drifting in their depths. But they’re not unreadable; he looks interested, if I’m not mistaken. Excited, even.

I reach forward again--this time not for his food--and he stiffens, stock still as I curl a lock of his hair around my fingers. It’s soft and cool, as rewarding as petting a shy cat that likes to hide under the bed.

I think about being on his lap, feeding him the rest of our food by hand. I wonder how quickly his heart is beating--perhaps with anticipation, certainly not with fear.

He tosses that hair over his shoulder when I let him go, expression carefully neutral. “You’re trying _something_ , though.” His voice comes out as smoothly as I’ve ever heard it. “Tell me what it is.”

“Let me take you home and I’ll show you.”

He stares for seconds, as though struggling to make a decision. Then, the corner of his mouth quirks up, though the smile fails to reach his eyes. “Alright.”


	2. Chapter 2

Illumi drives in silence, eyes fixed on the road. I wonder if he’s unsure of what to say, is lost in thought, or simply has nothing to say at all. I watch him, watch the play of shadows and lights across his face. He looks entirely in his element while bathed in stoplight red, the way it glares on his pale skin and reflects in the luster of his hair. It wakes something in me that feels like more than admiration, or even lust; it’s more like the excitement of\ a masochist awaiting the strike of a whip.

He remains unresponsive when I touch his knee, and even when I slide my hand up his thigh.

“Illumi.” I say his name with quiet urgency there in the dark and he turns, just staring at me instead of the road while the car sings through the night.

I try to touch his face and he flinches back. He swerves and a car outside honks. “Fuck,” I hear him mutter, before he kicks his pace up to a solid 90 in a 75.

Fifteen silent minutes later, and Illumi’s Benz rolls back into the driveway, setting the siding of the house awash in the headlights before he shuts them off. He seems in a rush to get out of the car, and moves away with a little intake of breath when I touch the small of his back to guide him inside. I can’t place whether he’s excited, overwhelmed, or genuinely uncomfortable. It’s unlikely to be the third option, though, for the simple fact that he’s agreed to come “home” with me.

Illumi must know the house isn’t mine, that it belongs to some CEO or something in the area that spends most months of the year living somewhere else. Whoever the owner is, I’m sure he can afford to replace whatever I destroy or take for my own.

The entire place has a dark, romantic atmosphere, somehow perfect for a date with one of the world’s deadliest assassins. Everything is black marble and chrome, the lights glaring on all of it with pale, indifferent fluorescence. Their light washes out his face even more, emphasizes the sleek depth of his hair, adds to the impenetrable quality of his eyes. He gazes around, face empty of any judgment, positive or negative, of the place. He slips off his coat, sets it on the kitchen table, and walks with perfect silence into the living room. I visualize the contrast his skin would make against the modern black leather couch, the perfection of the image. I touch my own lips and anticipate what his must feel like.

I serve the both of us some wine, something red and bittersweet, and join him on the couch. He stares into the shadows of the oddly lonely place, distant despite my arm around him.

“What are you thinking about?” I say. I stroke the back of his neck beneath his hair, and he sighs and softens. Problem solved. “That feel good?” I ask against his ear. He moans in response, confirming my suspicion that he’d been aroused earlier. I brush his hair back further and lick him there, and his breath comes faster. It feels deliciously obscene, like eating out a woman. He’s very sensitive, pliant and ready even at this little touch. He’s shivering by the time I slip my tongue into his ear; you’d think by the way he’s acting that I put something in his drink. I slide it in and out quickly, like fucking, and I hear him panting.

“Here,” I whisper, lips brushing the outer edge of his ear. “Get in my lap.”

He obeys eagerly and grinds down on me, bringing his face close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek, but doesn’t kiss me. He holds my hips and moves his like we’re fucking. His tongue slips out to lick my cheek and he laughs. Then he licks my lips, and seconds later I’m sucking his tongue while he moans into my mouth. It’s too messy to be a proper kiss, but every bit as satisfying. We do actually kiss some; his lips are indeed soft, the feeling satisfying, but we fall back to licking each other before long. His tongue feels way, way too good on mine.

Then he pulls back and holds me away from his face with a hand around my neck. The movements of his hips grow shorter and more insistent; his moans get quicker. A few short gasps and he stiffens, those black eyes glazed over, mouth open. His hips give four or five more hard, slow thrusts and I know what’s happened. The space between us is slick and hot. His pleasure has aroused me to the point of pain, and I haven’t even seen his body. He’s already passed his own breaking point.

I work my hand between us and wet my fingers with his cum before feeding it back to him. He sucks my fingers and bites them, and licks his lips when I move them away. His body might need some recovery time, but he’s worked up and hungry for more, the slightest flush coloring his cheeks.

He rolls off so I can undress him. He lets me do it. He’s shockingly obedient, like some kind of lifelike alternative sex doll. I discard my own clothes and lead him to the bathroom.

He gets into position on the floor of the shower without any prompting, and I notice the scars scoring his back before the water hits them. I kiss them and delight in his shivering. He doesn’t appear to be self conscious in the slightest.

I stand in front of him and open his mouth to push my cock in. He’s clumsy but passionate and eager to please, and takes me as far down as he can manage. I hold his face and fuck his throat; the scrape of his teeth only adds to the pleasure somehow, and he can take how rough with him I am. When I finally pull back he gags, tongue out, drooling. He lifts his face into the water and I look at him, stroke his cheek, his lips. Adoring him.

I kneel in front of his raised ass and kiss a cheek just once before spreading him open. His hole is tiny and tight, with the finest bit of hair, and he cries out when I lick it. He rubs his smooth balls while I keep licking, then the head of his cock. I suck his balls for awhile as he rubs his own asshole, slips a finger in to fuck himself dry. It doesn’t surprise me that pain doesn’t bother him, but I grab some lube from the drawer anyway.

He’s gasping “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as I push inside. I like the way he curses so much during sex; it’s an unexpectedly sexy little detail. His moans are loud, like he’s performing, while I fuck him hard on the shower floor. I wind his wet hair around my hand and pull up hard, then use his neck for more leverage with the other hand. That doesn’t work for long, though, so I settle that hand on his slim hip, using it to slap his ass now and then, or fondle his balls. I stroke his cock, hard again, and feel him shudder beneath me. Every thrust elicits more begging, “Please, please, please.”

He shoots again into the drain while I jerk him off, and the spasms of his already virgin-tight asshole set me off to empty myself into him.

I wash him lovingly as he catches his breath, and once again he lets me manipulate his body, more pliant than ever.

I’m even more surprised when he agrees to sleep in the bed with me, his bare, warm body pressed against my back. We smell the same, washed in the same shower with the same soap, and yet something about being pressed to his skin and hair is erotic. I want to fuck again, but he’s already dropped off to sleep, his breaths soft and slow. I follow soon after.

He wakes at dawn as though his body is attuned to the time, and he slaps my cheek to wake me up. “Give me underwear,” he demands. “Mine are ruined.” His curt manner gives my heart a little jolt, though it’s one of affection.

“You’re leaving now?” I’m disappointed. I could keep him here for a week and spoil him, feed him by hand and make sure he never has any reason to be dressed.

“Yes.” He taps away at his phone as he says it, its screen aglow in the semidarkness. He looks sort of ridiculous, standing naked next to my bed, hair uncharacteristically disheveled. “Your company was lovely, but I have business to attend to.”

I venture a guess. “Someone has to die?”

Illumi’s mouth twists into a smirk at the response. “Good guess.” He taps for a few more seconds, then begins rummaging through drawers. When he doesn’t find what he needs, he heads off deeper into the house. He must have found something to wear, because he doesn’t return.

 

 


End file.
